Chloe looked at me, her eyes filled with tears that finally spilled over her cheeks.

She looked at my arm, at the dark, discolored patches of skin that I had hidden for so long.

“You knew,” Chloe whispered to me. “You knew all this time.”

“I found out three years ago,” I said.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Chloe asked.

“You were happy,” I said. “You got to be the perfect daughter.”

Chloe shook her head, her hands trembling so hard she had to press them against her stomach.

“I wasn’t happy,” Chloe sobbed. “I was just stupid.”

She turned back to Father, her face contorting with a mix of anger and grief.

“You used her,” Chloe said to him. “You let her burn so you could keep your stupid money.”

“That is not what happened,” Father said, but his voice was weak.

“I hate you,” Chloe said.

She stepped back, her heel catching on the edge of a lounge chair.

She stumbled, nearly falling into the pool, but she caught herself.

“Chloe, please,” Mother cried, taking a step forward.